


life does not go backward, nor does it tarry in yesterday

by bottomlinsons (grimgrace)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Crack, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Humour, King Arthur AU, M/M, barely, but like, ohhhh my god what have i done, this is so borderline crackfic it's not funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5051635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimgrace/pseuds/bottomlinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and Harry are Knights of the Round Table and Camelot has a dragon problem. (Arthurian AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	life does not go backward, nor does it tarry in yesterday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my fave human in all the land babz the fabz](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+fave+human+in+all+the+land+babz+the+fabz).



> This is crack!fic like you’ve never seen before. But it’s all for Babz, my very favourite person in this world, who’s had a tough go of it day. 
> 
> Once again, this was written in the space of about four hours, so please excuse the slightly manic tone. All I can say is that it speaks to my current psychological well being. 
> 
> (Title is from The Address of Happiness by David Kirkpatrick.)

[inspired by this image]  

[enjoy xx]

* * *

 

Camelot has a dragon problem.

It began innocently enough. A few months following the royal wedding, a couple of farmers had journeyed down from the North, bringing with them reports of missing livestock and singed rooftops. The King, at the time drunk on love and wine, had promised to investigate the claims and then promptly forgotten the next day (Arthur is, ordinarily, a little more cognizant than this). He’d been reminded in the weeks that followed when more reports began to flow in, each one getting closer and closer to the city. Vaguely embarrassed to have forgotten in the first place, Arthur had immediately promised to devote his best men to solving the problem.

Unfortunately, for both Louis and Camelot, his best men don’t really have a clue where to start.

“Can we try and sort out some kind of treaty?” Sir Liam suggests when they first meet to discuss it.

Louis sighs.

Liam, hearing him, bristles slightly. “Don’t make that face!” he protests. “My mum always said compromise is the best way to solve a problem!” 

To his left, Sir Niall snickers. “M’not sure you can compromise with a creature that doesn’t speak English, mate.”

Liam deflates slightly. “Oh.”

“Hold on,” Sir Harry says. “How do we know it’s a creature?”

There’s a slight pause at the round table.

“Well...” Liam says. “It’s _alive_ and, like, people have _seen it_ so...”

Harry rolls his eyes and bats his hand in Liam’s direction. “No, no—” he interrupts, sounding slightly irritated. His brow creases in the middle, the way it always does when he and Liam clash. “I mean _a_ creature. Like just one. How do we know it’s not a whole army of dragons?”

“An army?” Niall sounds slightly alarmed.

Harry sighs. “No, not like an _army,_ army — I mean, like a _group_.”

“What do you reckon the plural for dragons is?” Louis interjects, knowing that he’s being unhelpful but deciding to go ahead with it anyway.

“Louis,” Harry sighs. “That doesn’t even _matter,_ why—?”

“—A massacre of dragons,” Liam interrupts him.

“A turbulence?” Niall suggests.

“A destruction?”

“A murder?”

“Nah, no go mate. Crows already have that one.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Harry places his face in his palms and sighs. “Guys,” he says. “Can we focus here?”

Liam is far too focused on Louis’ guessing game to pay him much mind. Whenever Louis manages to distract Liam from his work, he considers it a win. “A grumble of dragons?” he tries next.

“A grumble of dragons!” Louis says happily. “Everyone who votes for a grumble of dragons, raise your hand.”

Harry shoots him a very dark look.

Liam and Niall lift their hands into the air.

“You don’t want to vote, Harry?” he asks. He feels, just a little bit, like he’s playing with fire. It’s worth it though, to see the adorable curve to Harry’s eyebrows when he shoots Louis a grumpy glare.

It’s even better when Harry very reluctantly lifts his hand into the air. “Fine,” he says. “A grumble of dragons. Now what do we _do_ about them?”

This, unfortunately, brings them back to square one.

“Maybe we could give them some kind of sacrifice?” Niall says. “Every week we give them a sheep or something?”

“One sheep?” Liam says, sounding wary. “For more than one dragon?”

Niall shrugs. “Well, I don’t know how much they eat, do I?”

Louis hums thoughtfully. “You’re right,” he muses. “We’d have to figure out the sheep to dragon ratio.”

Harry heaves a loud sigh.

Louis might feel a little guilty for being so incredibly unhelpful, but he knows the difference between Harry’s sighs. While he’s certainly been on the receiving end of one or two sighs of irritation, he’s seen far more from the fond sigh family. This one, while perhaps a tad frustrated, is definitely one of the latter.

“What do you reckon?” Liam says. “Two sheep per dragon?”

“We don’t even know how many dragons there are,” Harry points out.

“Oh yeah,” Liam says. “Should we just guess and say ten? Nice round number and all.”

“Ten?” Niall sounds scandalised. “That’s twenty sheep a month!”

“Hold on,” Louis interrupts. “At what point did we decide that dragons only have to eat once a month?”

There is a chance, Louis thinks, as Niall and Liam begin to squabble over the capacity of a dragon’s stomach and the hypothetical timeline of its digestive tract, that King Arthur’s put his money on the wrong group of men. They are only the backup Knights of the Round Table, after all. The holier-than-thou Lancelot and his squad of smug and swarthy knights had trotted off just after the wedding on some bizarre quest that no one quite knew the point of and Arthur had decided that their ornate, mostly symbolic table needed manning in their absence. This is the first time that Louis and the others have actually been called to duty — and, to be perfectly honest, fighting dragons is a slightly intimidating trial by fire — _literally._

Still, Harry is the youngest of them and perhaps the one with the most to prove, which explains why he might find Louis’ blasé attitude slightly frustrating.

“Can we please try and take this seriously guys?” Harry interrupts Liam and Niall’s bickering. “If we don’t sort this out someone might get hurt.”

Louis, for all his pot-stirring, does have to accept that. Dragons probably don’t discriminate when it comes to their evening meals. They’d be like Niall, in that regard.

“We can do this, guys,” Harry says. “We just need to _focus_.”

The table falls silent for a moment as they all let Harry’s words sink in. Liam begins to nod solemnly and Niall folds his arms across his chest. Louis decides to devote his attention to a splinter that’s sticking out of the side of the table, instead of focusing on Harry’s stupidly earnest face.

“ _Maybe_ ,” Liam suddenly speaks, sounding inspired. He sounds loud and excited the way that he always sounds when he believes he’s on the precipice of an incredibly inspired idea, but is about to say something incredibly stupid. “Maybe we should like, dress up a tree as a lady dragon or something? You know, to like, _lure_ them here?”

Harry thumps his head forward onto the round table.

Honestly, Louis doesn’t blame him.

.

The King asks after their progress that night at dinner. He’s been throwing a lot of banquets lately, inviting half of Camelot to join him and his new wife for an evening meal almost once a week. Louis suspects that it’s really just an excuse to drink and dance with Guinevere, but he’s certainly not complaining. Especially not where roasted boar is concerned.

“And how is my dragon hunt going then, Sir Louis?” he asks.

Louis takes a long sip from his drink, only party to avoid having to answer for a few extra moments. When he runs out of air he reluctantly lowers the cup.

“Very well, your Majesty,” he replies.

The King grins broadly.

Louis is fairly certain that lying to him doesn’t count as treason, but he’s not sure. His heartbeat ratchets up a notch.

“I wonder what you’ll do with the beast once you’ve caught it,” the Queen speaks up from beside her husband.

Arthur shrugs. “Its head would do quite wonderfully on the wall,” he says. “Don’t you think?”

Guinevere looks a little ill at the thought. “Oh no,” she says quickly. “It would certainly clash with the decor.”

Arthur looks incredibly disappointed, but he doesn’t complain. He is the most besotted man in all of Camelot, Louis thinks.

Across the room, Harry lets out a happy little giggle. Louis, with a sinking feeling, elects not to think how quickly he turns to look at him. Instead, he looks for the reason.

When he does find the source of Harry’s laughter, his spirits (already slightly panicked) fall considerably.

The banquets do, unfortunately, carry one unpleasant proviso. Where there are bored courtiers and distracted royals, entertainment is a must. And in Camelot, entertainment means a man named Nicholas Grimshaw.

“Say,” the man obnoxiously asks the court right that second. “What do you get when you cross a parrot with a dragon?”

The crowd snickers with anticipation, as though they haven’t heard the joke a thousand times before. Louis rolls his eyes and munches grumpily on his parmesan roll.

“A bird that’ll talk your ear off!” Nicholas announces.

Naturally there is an uproarious round of laughter. The king wipes underneath his eyes, he giggles so hard. Louis bemoans the future of their entire kingdom.

Harry appears at Louis’ left, elbowing him solidly in the gut, his dimples lighting up the room. A slight dilution of his pupils suggests that he has perhaps partaken in a little more mulled wine than he can handle.

“He’s so funny, isn’t he, Louis?” Harry asks.

Louis sighs. This is, unfortunately, nothing new. Harry has been an incredibly vocal supporter of Nicholas Grimshaw’s particular brand of comedy for a long while now.

“It’s a joke about how much women talk, Harry,” Louis replies dully. He’s not sure how much wine it would take for Louis to laugh at Grimshaw’s jokes, but it’s certainly more than is left in the cup in front of him.

Harry’s smile vanishes.

“Oh,” he says, sounding suddenly sad.

Louis abruptly feels very, very guilty.

“You don’t think he meant it like that, do you?” he says.

Louis wishes he were a worse kind of person. Harry is too sweet to be caught up in Grimshaw’s nonsense, but he’s far too endearing to disappoint.

“No,” he sighs. “I’m sure he just meant it about birds, or something.”

Louis feels vaguely sick with himself, but the smile on Harry’s face more than makes up for it.

.

The next morning, they return to the task at hand.

“We should practice fighting,” Liam suggests. It’s one of the smartest things he’s said since they’d been given the job, as well as one of the first things that all four of them agree on, so they head down to the practice grounds.

Niall is proficient with a bow and arrow, but the other three are restrained to hand to hand combat. As such, they arm themselves with a wooden sword and shield each and step out onto the grounds.

“We’ll have to be prepared for an aerial attack,” Liam says.

Louis bites his tongue and stifles any instinct he has to make a smart comment about stating the obvious — because honestly, Liam is very good at this sort of thing. Louis likes to boast, but Liam’s talent with the sword outmatches Louis’ by a long yard.

“That means shields up at all time,” Liam instructs them sternly. “Especially considering that they could swoop from any direction.”

Harry lifts his shield above his head like he’s practicing and looks adorably like a clumsy gazelle. Louis’ knows, because he saw a gazelle once when a foreigner brought one to court. Or perhaps it was a giraffe.

Either way, Louis finds himself hopelessly endeared.

Harry is a talented swordsman that much is certain. But his specialty lies with attack, with practiced parries and thrusts (Louis flushes at the thought, then scolds himself soundly for thinking it) rather than defence. As it is, he only proves how little training he’s had with a shield, stumbling around awkwardly in its shadow.

It’s a sorry state of affairs, to be sure.

He trots over to Harry’s side and lifts his hands as high as he can — definitely, _definitely_ not craning up on his tiptoes to reach above Harry’s head — and readjusts Harry’s stance. He moves Harry’s arms around and then presses down on his shoulder when his posture remains slightly off. He wants quite badly to linger on the flexing muscle of Harry’s bicep, but he doesn’t. There are far too many pixies and fae in the woods touching people without their consent for Louis to start in now. He wrinkles his nose at the thought and steps back.

“Could you,” Harry asks after a second. “I mean, would you like to spar?”

Louis clears his throat and nods.

They play fight for a while, the same way they used to when they were both squires. Louis had always liked the way that Harry looked when he fought, but these days it’s a particular spectacle. His hair, almost as long as a lady’s now, bounces and shines in the sunlight and catches Louis’ attention like nothing else. He has a grace to him when he fights, as well; an elegant touch that he hasn’t quite managed to master for his everyday use, but that shines through like a dance. Louis goes easy on him, perhaps foolishly, just to watch the way he smiles.

Liam notices before too long and comes to give them a long lecture.

“This is real life, you know,” he says impatiently. “You understand that a dragon isn’t just going to linger if you’re standing between it and a tasty looking sheep.”

“Especially if you look just as tasty, hey,” Niall interjects.

“Not helpful, Niall,” Louis sighs.

“No!” Liam says. “Helpful! Very helpful, Niall. Thank you!”

Niall grins. “Wotcha, Leemo.”

Louis sighs.

Harry looks abashed. “Sorry Liam,” he says.

“All I ask is that you pay attention and don’t get distracted,” Liam replies imperiously. Then he shoots them both a very pointed look. “Both of you.”

Louis doesn’t actually know what that means, but he flushes anyway. It’s something to do with the tone.

.

Louis finds Harry in the library, several hours later. Louis had retired from the fighting to wash himself clean and try and have a nap — he’ll probably have to fight a dragon in the days to come, he _needs_ his rest time — but had grown restless as the hour grew late.

Harry, it appears, has spent the day with his nose buried in books.

“I’m just doing some research,” he explains when Louis sits down next to him. “Merlin showed me the books he thought might help.”

It’s a good plan, Louis thinks. He says as much. Then, “Have you found anything good?”

Harry frowns a little, but more like he’s confused than annoyed. He shuffles his books around, making sure not to lose his current page, before finally settling on a text that’s about as big as Louis’ bum (and that’s _saying something)._

“Only this,” Harry says. “Apparently there was some sort of magical dragon spotted by the sea that lived in a cave. I’ve had to translate, and bear in mind I’m not very good, but I think the dragon was called ‘Puff.’”

Louis frowns. “That can’t be right. That’s not a very dragon-ey name.”

Harry shoots him a look. “You can’t judge a person by their name, Louis,” he scolds him. “It’s very rude.”

Louis sighs. “You’re right,” he says. “I should know better. Have you heard some of the names around here?”

Lancelot, Galahad, Gawaine — god, it’s enough to give Louis a headache.

Harry rolls his eyes at Louis, but there’s a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His dimples, Louis thinks, are only one well timed joke away.

“Do you think the legends are true?” Harry asks, before Louis can even decide which knock-knock joke he’s going to use to knock-knock Harry’s socks off.

Louis frowns. “What legends?”

Harry pulls another book out of thin air and opens to a particularly horrifying image of a dragon burning an entire city down. “Do you think that they can breathe fire?” Harry asks.

Louis shrugs. “The man who drew that certainly did,” he says.

Harry doesn’t look reassured. “I’ve read that their scales are so hard that no weapon can pierce it,” he says. “What if that’s true — and we get there and we’re totally defenceless.”

Louis smiles a little grimly. “Then we die,” he says. “And we cross our fingers that the ballads they write about us don’t include how poorly prepared we were.”

Harry huffs an incredibly reluctant laugh — but the dimples finally make an appearance, so Louis doesn’t feel too awful. It’s what he’s always been there for anyway, especially when it comes to Harry. The reassuring comic relief — at least before Nicholas stupid Grimshaw came along.

“If you’re only going to joke, you should leave me alone,” Harry says then, attempting to be stern. “I can’t have you distracting me.”

Louis is delighted. “I distract you.”

“You certainly do,” Harry says. “Now shoo.”  

.

When they do face the dragons, it’s slightly different than they expect.

For starters, Liam had been correct the whole time. Rather than a whole slew of dragons systematically eating their way through the sheep of Camelot, there was just one lone offender. It was a brutish beast, big and green with sharp pointed teeth the size of bananas.

Harry’s books had been rather accurate as well. It breathes fire with a startling precision and seems incredibly quick to anger. When Louis does accidentally get between it and its (bleating) intended target, he only manages to dodge the fiery blaze by the skin of his teeth. The scorch mark left behind in the grass is incredibly disconcerting.

“Okay!” Louis says as he rolls back to his feet and turns to face it once more. “Everyone should probably keep an eye out for the fire! Just so you know!”

“Thanks, Louis!” Niall shouts from the dragon’s other side.

Under different circumstances, Louis thinks he might feel compelled to run and save his own skin. Certainly if this were his farm, or if his mother or sisters were in danger, that’s what he’d do. But he can see Harry standing on the opposite side of the field, his shield raised like Louis had showed him and a fearsomely determined look on his face.

Louis isn’t going anywhere.

“We should try and drive it into a corner!” Liam shouts from Louis’ right. “Try and make sure it can’t get airborne again.”

Louis’ not sure that a cornered dragon is going to be any more pleasant that a hungry one, but it’s the best plan they have so far. He’s certainly not thinking anything more complex than _if a single hair on Harry’s head is harmed, I’ll take this dragon apart scale by scale._

Of course, this is where the tables turn.

“How about you stop talking about me as though I’m not here?” a booming voice announces.

All four of them pause.

“Holy shit,” Harry says.

“Holy shit,” Louis says.

“Would ya look at that?” Niall sounds impressed.

“I _told_ you that they could talk!” Liam shrieks furiously. “I _told_ you, I _said so_!”

“Excuse me,” Louis says. “You did _not_. You said we should talk _to_ it _._ ”

“That’s the same thing—!”

“I think you’ll find it’s not.”

“If I might interrupt,” the dragon says sagely. All four of them snap their mouths shut. “Was there perhaps something you wanted to speak with me about?”

They all fall silent again. Louis wonders how the dragon is enunciating so well, with all those teeth getting in the way of his lips. Probably magic, he concludes after a silent second. How bizarre.

“Uhm,” Harry steps forward tentatively — snapping Louis’ attention back to the task at hand. He seems dangerously close now, like the dragon could change its mind and burn him to bone at any second now. “Sorry. Hello, Mr. Dragon.”

“It’s Hubert, actually.”

Louis squeaks. Now is not the time or the place for laughter, so he holds it in — but only due to sheer panic. Later, if they survive to tell this story, Louis is going to have to think of a more intimidating name. Like Slasher. Or Destroyer.

“Hubert, right,” Harry says. “We were — we were just hoping we could convince you to maybe leave our sheep alone?”

There’s another pause as Hubert considers him.

Louis’ grip tightens on his sword, ready to leap to action at the slightest movement. The dragon can have all the sheep it wants as long as it decides to leave Harry alone.

“I see,” the dragon says after a moment. “You would prefer I stick to the bovine, then?”

“Uhh,” Harry says. “No... We’d like to keep them as well, actually.”

The dragon seems to frown, which seems to be a hard endeavour considering it doesn’t have any eyebrows.

“The birds then?” it suggests. “The strange flightless ones that make too much noise in the mornings?”

Louis sees where this might be going.

“Actually,” he interrupts — perhaps to get this negotiation moving at a slightly faster pace, but more so to ensure that dragon’s attention doesn’t linger on Harry. “We’d quite like it if you left all of our animals alone,” he says. “It’s just that they cost us quite a lot of money and we need them to survive, you see.”

The dragon regards him coolly. Or, as coolly as possible for someone breathing steam from their nostrils.

“But then what shall I eat?” he asks.

And well, Louis thinks, it’s a fairly reasonable question. They do, after all, want the livestock for exactly the same purpose. It’s just that the farmers have a pre-existing claim.

“I’ve heard the cows over in Mercia are a treat,” Louis says after a moment. Maybe it’s not the most diplomatically sound solution to their problems, but the King over there’s been causing a bit of a stir and Louis’ getting a bit sick of it. He’s also not a diplomat, so it’s really not his problem. “I bet the sheep aren’t too bad either.”

“Hmmmm,” the dragon says — and once again, Louis’ amazed by his versatility of speech despite those huge, huge teeth of his. “I haven’t travelled West in quite some time.”

“Well there you go!” Niall says enthusiastically. “Problem solved.”

The dragon considers them all.

“Alright then,” he says eventually. “Problem solved.”

Then, without any further ado, he spreads his wide, wide wings and launches himself into the sky. The sheep, which Louis had honestly forgotten about, lets out a weak little bleat and topples over on its side. Harry is there in a second to confirm that “it’s still alive, only unconscious. I think it might have fainted, poor little thing.” Then he strokes the sheep’s face, petting it with a sad look on his face.

Louis is in love with him. And very, very glad that neither of them have been killed by a dragon.

Niall comes to Louis’ side then, clapping him on the shoulder and congratulating him on a job well negotiated. Liam, however, is still standing still in the middle of the field. He’s staring at where Hubert had stood, at the singed grass and the heavy impressions that Hubert’s feet had left.

When Liam regains some semblance of control of his limbs, he slowly begins to turn around.

Louis feels a dreadful sense of resignation pool in the pit of his stomach.

Liam shoots him an impossible smug look.

“See, Louis?” he says, every inch of his words dripping with haughty self-satisfaction. “ _Compromise._ ”

.

Back in the castle, they are greeted like kings.

Well, perhaps not like _their_ King — no monarch has ever enchanted his people so thoroughly as Arthur has — but certainly at least as knights.

This is probably the reason Lancelot’s such a lump, Louis thinks as the King thumps him solidly in the back. This kind of appreciation day in and day out could certainly go to a man’s head.

“These men beside me have done us all a great honour today,” the King announces grandly to his people. “Serving their country and their people, they have vanquished the dragon that has plagued our lands so! Shall I hear an ‘hurrah’ in their honour?”

“ _Hurrah_!!” the crowd choruses back.

And that’s about the end of that. The King throws a banquet in their honour, but honestly, it doesn’t differ much from the banquet they’d had the week previously. Louis even suspects that they are served the same boar.

Still, there’s mulled wine and dancing so Louis can’t really complain. Even Grimshaw, when he steps out to perform at his obnoxious best, does little to dampen his spirits.

Harry tugs on his sleeve about half way through the festivities.

“May I have a word?” he asks.

Louis nods and follows him obediently, if a little drunkenly, out of the grand hall. They wander away from the sound of the rampant celebrations and down an empty corridor.

“Are you alright?” Louis asks, growing suspicious.

Harry looks confused. “Yes?”

“Are you hurt?” Louis presses. He’d checked earlier — and thought he’d done an incredibly thorough job in making sure that Harry was unharmed — but apparently not well enough. He begins to prod at Harry’s skin, searching out the weakness.

Harry scrambles out of reach, frowning slightly. Maybe Louis poked a little hard.

“ _Ow_ —what?” he says. “No, I’m fine.”

Louis pulling his prodding finger back and frowns. “Well then what do you want?”

Harry pauses.

“You’re missing Grimshaw, you know?” Louis points up. “I mean, Nicholas. Nick, I guess. You’re missing him.”

Harry smiles and shrugs. “Yes, well. He’ll understand.”

What? Louis thinks.

“What?” Louis says. “He’ll understand _what_?”

Harry looks pink cheeked and happy and maybe a tad nervous. “Well,” he says, sounding almost bashful. “He’s had to listen to me go on about you for ages, so it’s not like he’ll be surprised.”

Louis blinks.

Once.

Twice.

“What?” he says again.

Harry giggles a little. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m not very good at this.”

Louis is incredibly, _incredibly_ confused. “What!?” he says, this time scrunching his face up, feeling almost overwhelmed by the sheer bewilderment. “Not good at what—? Harry, what’s going on—?”

That’s when Harry kisses him.

Louis squeaks, hands flailing wildly for a moment before he sinks into it completely.

Oh. _Oh._

Harry’s lips are soft and warm and sour with the taste of wine. He kisses like he fights, with a grace that completely outmatches any experience that Louis has had previously. His fingers thread through the hairs at the base of Louis’ neck, his palm cupping his nape as he dips Louis’ head back a little.

Louis doesn’t whimper.

Okay, he does.

He’s not ashamed.

Harry’s fucking beautiful, okay.

When they pull apart, there’s a slightly disgusting string of saliva that connects them — but Louis wipes at his mouth and doesn’t give a damn. Harry’s lips looks pink and bitten and absolutely edible.

“I’ve loved you for quite some time, you know,” Harry murmurs softly.

Louis thinks he might melt. His knees certainly wobble a little, like they’re considering it.  There’s a very good chance that his heart will break into song at any moment. He basks in the glow of it for a moment, fights the urge to giggle like a madman, before diving back in for more.

Harry leans back though, a pout settling on his lips.

“Don’t you love me as well?” he asks.

Louis shoots him an impossible smug look. He tugs fondly at one of Harry’s curls and revels in the way it springs back into place when he releases it.

“Well,” he says. “I suppose you’ll do.”

To say that he then leaps into Harry’s arms would be perhaps slightly dramatic — but it certainly wouldn’t be untrue.

.

(They live happily ever after and have their very own grumble of Tomlinsons, to the joy of absolutely everyone who knows them.)

.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know if they had parmesan rolls in the Arthurian Era. But, as they did not have any Louis Tomlinsons either, I figured I could stretch reality a little further. 
> 
> A thousand apologies to everyone and anyone affiliated with King Arthur and his merry men (wrong legend??) I know I butchered the tale rather thoroughly, but it was for an incredibly good cause.
> 
> I HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER BABS. LOVE YOU LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS. (pls, for the love of god, rest your foot.) 
> 
> (As always, your kudos and comments mean the world to me, so if you have it in you to send me a couple of words telling me what you thought I would love you forever. And, of course, if you liked it you can reblog the tumblr [post](http://bottomlinsons.tumblr.com/post/131685804487) here and if you [follow](http://www.bottomlinsons.tumblr.com) me on tumblr, I'll defs follow you back.)


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